


Dueling

by Sinedra



Series: Ryiah Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death, Children, Drabble, Duelling, During Canon, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Romance, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinedra/pseuds/Sinedra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of drabbles, instances where the Inquisitor and her commander spar over the course of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dueling

It was the first time they had sparred, the first time they had interacted outside of the war room. And they were both tentative. The crowd of soldiers and townsfolk were eerily silent. None of the usual signs of favoritism; he figured they were afraid of her. Cullen had seen the way she eyed her left hand, _she_ was afraid of herself.

The Commander watched Ryiah move, testing the weight of her new daggers, waiting for him to strike. It was a game they played in their meetings: he calculated each step and thought strikes ahead while she waited for an opening. For opportunity. Observing his weaknesses with those blue eyes; her cold gaze following until she could exploit them.

She didn’t speak, so he didn’t either. The only noise was the clanging of clashing metal and the scuffle of their feet. Her much smaller form dancing just out of reach and his shield staving off her quick blows. It was mutual respect that kept them from simply hacking away at the other, and perhaps curiosity.

Cullen figured she was waiting for them to run her off. Or she was waiting for her chance to flee; wasn’t that why she stalked past his tent to the surrounding woods each night? A good woman she could be, clearly a capable fighter, but the Herald of Andraste?

Cullen was not yet convinced that she was worthy of her title.

———

The Inquisition had finally settled into Skyhold when they finally sparred again. Ryiah had suggest it, “to boost moral” as she had put it during one of her visits. He eyed her as she adjusted her gloves, watching as strands of dark, red hair brushed her cheek as she cursed in ancient elven at the leather. When he quipped about her taking all day, she flushed quite wonderfully and ignored his men as they laughed.

“You couldn’t hit me, Commander.” The way her lips twisted into that familiar grin made he swallow thickly.

“You think so Inquisitor?”

“You’re too slow.” Her bright eyes sparkled; he’d never realized how much she said with just her eyes back in Haven. Ryiah had to know she could stop him in his tracks with one glance. Maker what did she do to him? “Would you prefer to stare at me all day?” He shook his head and blushed at the realization that he’d been caught. “If you’d like,” she continued, “I can turn around so you don’t feel too intimidated.”

Cullen couldn’t help but chuckle at her sanguine attitude. “Just wondering how you can wield daggers half you height.” With her now ruffled, right where he wanted her, the former Templar lunged. The move caught her off guard, but she rolled out of the way and drew her wickedly curved blades.

They danced around each other for several minutes before she feinted with a back-stab. Instead, she tripped him mid-turn. He stumbled before regaining his balance, but the damage was done. His soldiers jeered and roared with laughter at this unusual display of inadequacy. He, himself, didn’t quite understand.

It wasn’t until after she had declared a draw, having worn herself out keeping him at bay, that he found his eyes following her. Breath having left him as she turned to sneak a look back at him. They shared a timid smile before she was led off by Dorian. Cullen did not blink until she was out of sight.

———

The third time was after that kiss on the battlements. It was a private little match, which he insisted on. Her bout with the high dragon in the Hinterlands had left her slightly indisposed. A scratch she’d insisted. More accurate to say her leg had been gouged open. Maker take him if he just let her walk away as if nothing had happened. 

The tight space behind the stable wasn’t a very astute choice, mud causing both to slip frequently. She’d made the good call to abandon their armor, he was not going to pick dried mud out of his fur mantle. He’d tried to be serious and test her injury, but she was purposefully rash. Making bold dives past his defenses. When she lost her footing, he dropped his sword to catch her, landing flat in the mud himself. Unable to do anything but laugh with her as he cradled her to his chest.

They kissed playfully before Ryiah tackled him back down as he’d been rising. He didn’t often wrestle, preferring his blade, but he did with Lavellan for several minutes until he had her pinned beneath him. Her dark hair heavy with mud and her face smudged, but her smile, Maker, it left him breathless. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than her dirt-streaked face, eyes holding him.

He wondered, not for the first time, how far he kept falling for her. How long before he was irrevocable in love with the Inquisitor?

——–

The fourth was in the dungeons, well past midnight. He’d found her ripping dummies to shreds. Cullen had offered to be a more suitable target and she accepted with a silent nod. She was never careless, perhaps not the most strategic of fighters, but she watched and waited. Used distractions, slunk around the battlefield until she could sneak in poison or unleash a flurry of blows. Ryiah was not a fighter, she used speed not strength, but here she was charging him again and again and again.

He could have easily knocked her over and won, disarmed her even, but he could see pain behind the unsteady wall of tears she tried to hold back. No, she needed this and so he’d stay all night until she was done. She charged with a cry each time, letting out her frustration and guilt upon his blade. The Templars had trained him too well to tire so easily. She, on the other hand, was exhausting herself quickly.

When she threw her daggers aside, he caught her as she fell to her knees with a pitiful cry. Never before had she been forced to choose between lives. Cullen knew it was selfish to feel so reassured when she was safe in his arms, to feel happy, as she cried heavily over Hawke’s death. Varric had forgiven her, but it was clear she would not forgive herself. 

——–

The fifth, if anyone else would call it that, was tangled in _his_ sheets. Well into the early dawn of that blissful night they stayed up and lay tightly in each other’s embrace. It wasn’t until the sun began to crest over the mountains that she finally felt brave enough to initiate their intimacy and wrestled with him for dominance.

It was amazing how quickly she’d gotten over her shyness, but he could hardly think after she kissed him again. When she teasingly bit his neck and pinned him down he had taken it as a challenge. They fought over who gave pleasure and who submitted, usually moaning in pure ecstasy. She’d only stopped fighting when he had her close to the brink once more. Though, she made him follow her over the edge in recompense for him winning.

——-

The sixth was the day before her mark burned horribly. The day before she went after Corypheus. She tried to reassure him, but his strikes were reserved and not even her smile could keep the nightmares at bay. How many times had he seen her broken or dead in his dreams recently? Her soft touch, full of concern and love, only made it worse. Which moment would be the last?

He tried not to bruise her, worried about striking too hard, that she’d pulled a muscle with that dodge. Ryiah had never appeared weak to him, but now she was just too fragile. 

Going through the motions to keep her from worrying was harder than he ever could have imagined. Echoes of her voice saying his name, hearing her call him _“vhenan”_ and knowing just how significant a title it wa _s,_ had been a salve for wounds he only now allowed to heal _._ Watching her as she slept curled beside him being one of the most peaceful moments he’d ever been allowed; making the nightmares lessen and the pain of lyrium withdraw subside.

Losing her would be worse than Uldred’s massacre at the Circle.

——-

The seventh was filled with laughter and was hardly a match. Cullen had picked her up and spun her around as she giggled wildly. Their wooden weapons having been used as prodding sticks rather than practice implements. The little voices circling his feet only encouraged him further.

“Uncle, uncle! You have to slay her! Not make her dizzy!”

“Mommy! You gotta make daddy pay for teasing you!”

They shared looks of pure contentment as Mia called the children away for a treat. Ryiah brought her lips to his in a slow kiss. It had been hard for them both to retire from the Inquisition, but it was not a place where the Inquisitor and the Commander could be a family rather than just their positions. As their daughter’s delight titter reached their ears, they pulled apart and smirked. She was equally stubborn and mischievous, and about to be a sister.

“Well,” he began, “any last words Mrs. Rutherford?” Her deep violet vallislin blurred as she kissed his cheek.

“I could use a massage, my back’s aching already. Oh and whatever that disgusting dish was last night-”

“The one with the crab?”

“Yes, I want it.” He roared with laughter at her disgruntled look, but he obeyed his lady and carried her toward the house. “What a fitting end you’ll let me have. Choking to death on Orlesian food because _your_ child craves it.”

“Naturally my love. Gnawing on rabbit bones just isn’t sensational enough for the Inquisitor.” She sent him a scathing glare and his heart swelled even as he chuckled. Her verbal sparring would never cease until the pregnancy was over, but he would enjoy the struggle.


End file.
